


In 1899

by CeruleanChillin



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, Reader-Insert, Sexual Content, Smut, reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-08-17 08:05:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16512476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeruleanChillin/pseuds/CeruleanChillin
Summary: There's a young woman who found her place in a gang of misfits.Reader x Various Red Dead Redemption 2 Characters.





	1. Mister Morgan

"Why Journal, have you seen Mister Morgan this morning?"

The sound of your melodic lilt caused Arthur to lower his journal from his face. It was the first move he'd made for anyone else that morning, and he hadn't intended to make any meaningful ones until it was time for him to get up.

"Oh!" he watched your face morph into mock surprise. "Never mind I found him."

Arthur propped himself up on his elbows and looked you over. You were blinding to him in that moment, and he'd be lying if he said that was all due to your sunny disposition. Or the rising sun's soft touch on your face.

"It's great to know that even in the dead of the world you're a chipper somebody." his sarcastic drawl drew a laugh from you that seemed to color the surrounding area.

You put your hands on your hips. "Well, I learned from you. Your soul sucking joy is contagious."

"So you're bothering me because you want more lessons?" he rose to a seated position, and placed the small leather journal on his bedside table.

"I'm bothering you, old man, because it's what you deserve for leaving me when I told you I wanted to go with you yesterday."

"I could've sworn you said you didn't want to go. Must be getting hard of hearing in my old age." his wry grin was a dead giveaway to the fact that he was well aware he was full of shit.

He had, in fact, known that you wanted to go with him to collect some debts for Strauss. What he also knew, was that he didn't want you to see him like that. The irony wasn't lost on him, it wasn't like you'd joined a roving band of evangelicals. You yourself were a fantastic thief and con-artist. It was simply the nature of that job in particular that he wasn't fond of, and he wasn't fond of how it made him look and feel. More importantly, he didn't want you to see that. Arthur liked to think he looked strong in your eyes, capable. Debt collection often left him feeling sullen and drained, and that wasn't what he wanted you to associate with him. What he did want you to see, was something he wasn't being entirely honest with himself about yet.

"I'm sure you did." you rolled your eyes, and boldly entered his space. "Move over."

"I think you're turned around ma'am. Your tent is about 40 paces that way. I would know, because I believe it was my head you nearly took off with the support pole." he didn't deny your command though, and made space for you on his tiny cot.

He watched you duck your head, and unleash a laugh powerful enough to stir his heart. Somehow you made yourself more gorgeous in that moment, and he wondered if that's what made men write funny words called poetry.

"No one can spin a yarn like you, I don't recall that at all." your voice was colored with its natural joyous tone and traces of laugh-instilled breathlessness.

"I believe some of my brain can still be found in the area from where it leaked outta my ear."

You laughed, and shoved his shoulder with your own. Arthur felt a shock go through him at the contact. He tried to hide the physical evidence, a chill, behind a cough.

"Anyways, I wouldn't have gotten involved. I just wanted to go to town when you were done."

"When John and I found you, you were standin' over a man, prepared to empty his skull only after you'd knocked out his woman. Why can't you escort yourself to town?"

You threw one leg over the other and huffed in frustration. "Because, no one will lend me their horse, I don't have one of my own yet, and everybody's too busy to take me. Feeling like a goddamn child and being cooped up ain't my idea of a great time."

"Holding that in for a while weren't you?" he chuckled. "What's got you itching to go to town?"

"Blacksmith."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. He wanted to both guess for himself, and hear you say what exactly it was that you wanted with a blacksmith.

"A gunsm-"

"No, blacksmith." you reached into the pocket of your pants and produced a folded piece of paper. "Don't you dare laugh."

He unfolded the paper to find a poor sketch of some sort of sharp pole. To his credit, he didn't tell you he wouldn't laugh.

"I told you not to laugh!" though you yourself couldn't quite hold to your own demand.

"(Y/N) I'm not a nice man, I believe you knew that." he studied the paper again. "Just what the hell is the thing anyways?"

"I saw this thing about spearfishing in a book Dutch lent me. Might as well try my hand at it." you shrugged like what you just said was the most normal conclusion to come to.  
In the few months Arthur had known you, he believed for you it was. You weren't afraid to try much, especially if something interested you. He believed that's what led to your jack-of-all-trades nature, and what allowed you to pull your own weight with ease in the gang. You weren't a boring person by any stretch of the imagination, and for a man who'd seen as much as Arthur had, that was attractive.

"People can call you anything but dull that's for damn sure." he looked over your drawing for a final time. "Or an artist."

"Draw a few pretty pictures in that journal of yours, and suddenly, you're a critic." you threw your hands up in faux exaggeration.

He folded the paper along the lines created by your original fold, and pocketed the paper. He ignored your cry of "hey!".

"I might be able to procure something like this for you." he rose to his feet as he saw the camp start to stir to life.

"Really?" the way your eyes lit up sent a punch to his gut that almost sat him down again. He focused on finding his vest and hat.

"Calm down, it ain't about you. I wanna see this little experiment of yours beat an old-fashioned rod and some bait."

You lounged back into the empty space he'd left behind, and it occurred to Arthur that you were probably the only one in camp with the balls (so to speak) to do so. He wondered what that said about your relationship.

"That doesn't fix being cooped up though."

"No, I suppose it doesn't." he whipped his vest at your thigh, satisfied with the yelp and move to sit up it drew from you. "But hunting enough game to feed these bottomless pits will."

\----

"Good to know you can find something other than your bed." Arthur crushed his cigarette beneath his boot as John approached the tree he was resting against.

"Good to know that pillow you got for a brain knows directions. Thought for sure I'd be lost to mankind following you."

Arthur whistled for his horse, who promptly followed her master's command. "Keep that fire Marston, I intend to make you prove you've kicked bedrest."

"Prove that among other things I'm sure." John grumbled.  
"No, that there is for Abigail to be concerned about. Not myself." he began a light gallop in the other direction once he saw John was close enough.

"Go to hell Morgan!" John cried from behind him.

Arthur ignored him, spurring his horse on and tearing down the hill. It wasn't his first idea, to spend his day hunting with John Marston, but Dutch had started in on the low supplies in the camp, and Arthur had immediately pretended he was up to that all along. John had been lounging, proud of the full night of guard duty he'd put in. He threw in John's name to be spiteful, but now realized it was a pyrrhic victory of sorts.

That proved to be all too true when a few hours later they had nothing but three rabbits to show for two hour's worth of hunting. The two men's bickering had been incessant, and probably responsible for driving away more prey than they would care to admit. They both believed themselves to be master hunters when in each other's presence, and wouldn't bow to the other's whims.

"I told you small game adds up." John reiterated for what must've been the hundredth time since they'd been out. "We should've focused more on that."

"And I told you, I ain't going back to camp without a big catch. Funny that's never been a problem till I brought you along." Arthur removed his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow, crinkled in frustration.

"I'll remind you, friend, you put my name out there. If Strauss was here, he'd probably find something in my favor about that. That whole sub mind thing."

"Yeah, yeah shut up. We ain't that far from camp, you can take your finds back and see how much they add up to. I'll be back to finish the job." Arthur patted his horse in sympathy for the harsh riding that day, and carefully turned her in the direction of the river down from the camp.

"In a minute, my horse is thirsty. You don't own the river now do you King Arthur?" John smirked in his direction, and Arthur was willing to bet it was more about annoying him than taking care of his horse.

"Nope. The jester is free to do what he pleases." Arthur reveled in John's side eye.

"You know, I'd take your blows, which have been particularly vicious today, to heart if I didn't know what it was about. You shouldn't take it out on me because your woman finally got her horse and breaks camp every chance she can."

Arthur nearly pitched himself from his saddle from turning to face John so sharply. A million ways to deny what John said settled with a strong taste on his tongue. It was true you'd been taking up errands for the gang so you could get out of camp more, and he had been particularly sour since. That being acknowledged, he didn't welcome that from John at all. Who else felt that way? Who else thought (knew) he wanted you to be his woman? If John suspected....

"What the hell are you talking about Marston?" he chose to feign ignorance instead.

John opened his mouth to respond, but stopped when something caught his eye. "Why I'm talking bout her Morgan."

Arthur looked towards where John nodded, and sure enough, there you were. You were in the shallower portion of the river, pant legs rolled so high they almost didn't resemble pants anymore, hair piled on top of your head. In short, you were a damp mess, but he was reminded, once again, that a person could be so beautiful it could physically hurt.

You were carefully watching the waters around you in deep concentration. He realized you'd finally gotten time to try out your spear. Something the entire camp new you'd been itching to do since he'd crafted it for you. Yes, crafted. Arthur cursed himself a couple of times for undertaking the task, he wasn't the best with iron working. He'd obtained the book himself from Dutch, and after a much better planning sketch, fashioned a spear from some scrap iron and a firm wooden pole. All of his gripes through the process felt small when, a week and half later, he'd watched you find the spear in you tent. To know that he'd made your day, made it all worth it. The look you'd given him for indulging your request never failed to bring a smile to his own face whenever he thought of it.

"Watch your mouth. She ain't mines." the words sounded absolutely pathetic, even to him.

As if you sensed yourself being watched, you looked up to see them on the hill. You waved at them, a wide grin spreading on your face.

"Why Mister Morgan, have you taken to spying on women?!" you called out.

Arthur had come to discover you only called him "Mister Morgan" when you were teasing him, and he loved it. It usually sparked some private conversation, or shared moment when you did. It wasn't lost on him that there was a unique edge to the teasing you gave to him verses how you teased the others. He wasn't willing to bet on what the reasoning behind that could be though.

He waited until he was closer to the river to answer you. "No ma'am. Now spying on folks a biscuit short of the plate on the other hand...."

Your laughter proved to be contagious for both men.

"A friend made this for me. His sanity is the one to question."

"Can't say I don't agree." John grinned at him over the lowered head of his horse.

"Books are the problem here if you ask me." Arthur grumbled, kneeling to splash his face in the cool water.

"What are you two doing out here anyways?" you asked, re-adjusting your pants.

Arthur caught John taking an unabashed look at your exposed legs and thighs, and seriously contemplated kicking him into the river. The man not really being a swimmer really sweetened the pot on that idea.

"I'm bringing home dinner." John jerked his head in the direction of where the rabbits hung from his saddle.

"What?!" you cried incredulously. "I told Dutch I had dinner under control."

John and Arthur exchanged a look that said a lot without saying anything at all. The spread sack behind you was completely devoid of fish.

"As much as I hate to see such fine craftsmanship go to waste, I had a feeling you'd come home empty handed." Arthur tsked and shook his head.

You cradled the spear to your chest, and Arthur was both warmed and somewhat amused by this. Your beautiful face twisted up into determination. Was there any expression you couldn't make look brand new to him?

"I haven't been out here nearly as long as you two. I'm just getting my bearings."

"Hey," John raised his hands palm out. "I've got dinner for the camp. Perhaps Arthur should stop hiding behind his woman and just admit I'm bringing home dinner alone, cuz he can't catch any big game."

Arthur resisted decking John, realizing that might make him appear to have a point. "That a challenge Marston? Cuz it's one the ledger don't back."

"If it's a challenge, I'll have you both licked." You had all the confidence in your voice of someone who had a mountain of fish behind them.

"Toothpicking fish ain't gonna feed nobody girl." John gave a dismissive wave.

"We'll see Marston. Gotta make my man proud after all." you winked at Arthur, before your face set with determination again. "Now get the hell on, you're scaring the fish."

 

Goddamn if the camp didn't have fish in just about every conceivable way that night because of you. And though he lost the bet too, goddamn twice if he didn't love John's sour excuses and mutterings.

\----

It'd been awhile since Arthur felt sheets and a real bed, and the softness of the former on his bare chest wasn't lost on him. His journal lay spread before him, the two pages covered in details about the few days he'd been able to steal for himself, and of course a little about you.

"Why Mister Morgan, are you writing about me in there?" Your arms circled around his torso, as your weight sunk onto his back.

Arthur felt his muscles relax in an instant at the touch of your bare chest to his back. He hadn't even heard you come in, and while with anyone else that would bother him, it would certainly be a fine way to go at your talented hands. He glanced back at you, and his face softened at the content grin on your face.

"You know the answer to that my lady, or you wouldn't be grinning like a cat with ten canaries."

You hugged him closer, and pressed your lips onto the back of his neck. He could feel your grin widen when he shivered.

"Different question then." you nuzzled his neck. "Were you thinking of drawing me at my least ladylike?"

He rolled over, careful to catch you in his arms, and cradle you to his chest. He cupped the back of your neck in his large hand and brought your lips to his. He wasn't entirely sure how the two of you ended up together in a Valentine hotel room, but sure as hell wasn't mad about it.

He gripped your ass sliding your hips to line up with his. "You? Unladylike? I think I need a demonstration of that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the first part after reading a journal entry from Arthur, and then I just spun it into some entry level fluff. Trying to flex my fingers and get used to these characters. Also, I haven't finished the game so please spare meh (and if anything doesn't add up story wise, that's probably why).
> 
> I love rough Arthur being a softie when he likes someone, so I went there.
> 
> I'm pretty paranoid about writing accents, so this has my anxiety through the roof. Not sure if the dropped g's (which is how I speak in real life and I am Southern) is too much, or if it works. I didn't write it that way just in case, but I didn't want it to seem like I forgot most characters in this game speak with an accent.


	2. I Missed You/I'll Miss You *Chpt. 2 Spoiler*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Spoiler* This has content from Chapter 2’s storyline (sort of), one mission in particular.  
> The followup to this will have more details, so I’ll tag that accordingly too.
> 
> The smuuuut. Pretty sure this the most smut I’ve ever published, and it ain’t even that much lol. I need to be further corrupted.
> 
> It’s also a lot of trying to explore the reader’s relationships with the other characters, so sorry if it’s somewhat dragging in the beginning.

There was true irony in the fact that you’d dramatically flitted about the camp comparing it to a prison prior to getting a horse, but you’d spent the last three days in camp doing less than you had before. It didn’t take the best of learned men to figure out what your problem was. However, only the women had the gall to call you on it. 

 

Arthur had been gone for three weeks, and while bounty hunting was rarely a quick job, you were still worried. You were sure everyone was worried in their own way, but the the simple fact that it was their way of life, softened the edge of said worry. You understood that yourself, it was your way of life too. However, you had something new and fragile with Arthur, so it wasn’t quite the same as it was before. You hadn’t expected that either. The bounties had been particularly nasty, and thus worth a decent penny, the only way Arthur would consider taking them. He was a capable man, that you knew, but you were a well traveled woman. You’d seen enough to learn, even for yourself, that no one was a god.

 

Miss Grimshaw tried to busy you with chores, “What’s a wandering mind ever been good for besides trouble? That boy’s too stubborn to die. Now, clean laundry is a different story and I got a wagon  **fulla** potential”. 

 

Karen had suggested going into town to play the ‘Chaos Game’, something you and she had invented on a whim to drive the men in camp crazy when they had to “save” you. It was  _ especially _ fun when it was John and Arthur. Start a major saloon fight here, plant an idea in a girl’s head about her fella to start a screaming match there, sloppily pick pocket and pin it on someone else, steal a horse, etc. 

Of course, how much fun could that be when the best part of the game, for you, was being ‘punished’, and you didn’t think it appropriate to ask John to fill Arthur’s shoes.

 

Abigail told you it was downhill from there. Now that you and Arthur had fallen into something resembling being together, you should expect the aches of disappointment more often. “They fuck you so good you think the next time might be different, but nope. That’s about the highlight of their use.” And no, she wasn’t “bitter” she’d quickly informed you at your side glance of her.

 

Mary-Beth had tried to get you to see it as something romantic and adventurous. “Just imagine when he rides up like a knight, and sweeps you off your feet.” she sighed, a wistful smile playing on her lips. “Then you’ll be able to make some more of that pretty soap with the flowers in it that you make. We’re running low.” Ah, thanks for caring.

 

The men had been the ones to pussyfoot around the topic. They just wanted to entertain you in the moment, never mentioning or hinting at what was wrong. John suggested you take him spearfishing, “For your benefit of course.”. 

Dutch sat audience while you sang a duet with Uncle, and was kind enough not to comment when you kept falling out conversation with the two men. Uncle wasn’t. 

 

Tilly was the one to really snap you out of it though. You two were playing poker for candy with Karen, and where you normally walked away with a store’s stock full, that game wouldn’t make the books as one of your best. 

 

“If you ask me, Arthur wouldn’t even recognize this mopey piece of furniture. I mean what happened to the girl who jumped off the top of a cliff into a lake for fun?” Karen reclined in her chair in time to her unapologetically sharp statement.

 

Tilly snorted. “Poor Arthur, may as well have climbed into a coffin his damn self as close to death as you took him that day.”

 

“You two could make sitting on the pot a headline. I’ve just been taking things easy for the past few days. I’m still me.” you knew what she meant, but she’d essentially called you boring. For you, that was worse than the ugliest of vulgar insults that could be hurled at you.

 

“Girl you better stop lying like an old rug,” Tilly crossed her legs in a matter-of-fact way. “You miss your man, and that’s ok, but you can’t get down everytime things look dark for him. You’ll kill your spirit and not even realize it!”

 

You heard, rather than saw, her kick Karen under the table for attempting to peek at her cards. 

 

“And I swear if you kill that crazy spirit of yours, and make laundry some horseshit chore again, I’ll murder you myself.”

 

“Hey!” Karen nearly lowered her cards out of indignation, recoiling at the last second. “I make laundry fun too. I make  **_all_ ** the chores more fun.”

 

“ **_You_ ** make us have to do them all over again the same day. The second time being set to Grimshaw’s fussing.”

 

“Fun!” Karen rocked the table with her boisterous laughter.

 

Tilly’s response was lost to you, because you were starting to focus more on what she’d said before. You didn’t think it had been that serious. You were fine with him accepting the job, just when it started to approach a month since having last seen or heard from him, it hit you in a way you hadn’t been expecting.You’d been fine when you two were just friends who flirted a little too much. 

It was far past that now. Arthur was the first time you weren’t flirting and fucking for fun. The new territory excited you, and you’d went in head first, but this wasn’t a part you’d been informed of.

 

That being said, you had to admit Tilly’s statement struck you because there was some truth to it. It was a matter of when, not if, Arthur would get into another harrowing situation. You couldn’t lay around in bed, or half ass your way through the day, every time that happened. It wasn’t you, and replaying the last three days to yourself turned your stomach.

 

“Well Tilly, you went and broke her.” Karen snapped her fingers in your direction.

 

“Opposite actually.” you shook your head with a grin. “I fold.”

 

“Look at that hand!” Karen gestured to the cards you’d placed down. “You definitely broke her. Oh well, can’t be helped. Whaddya got?”

 

“Fold.” Tilly rolled her eyes.

 

Karen hooped loudly as she pulled all of the candy that made up the pot to her side of the table. “Thank you kindly ladies, I do so hope we do this again soon.”

 

“Yes ma’am, I intend to get my title back. Enjoy it for now.”

 

“So that means you’re back?” Tilly swatted at Karen’s teasing pokes and jeers of ‘loser!’.

 

“I told you I never left. Now I’m going to make a kite, who’s in?”

 

Both women exchanged looks of pure puzzlement, before turning those looks to you. Unlike most people you were comfortable with being looked at funny. It occured to you, that no one had looked at you that way in days without there being an air of sympathy behind it.

 

“How adventurous.” Karen replied sarcastically. “I think I’ll retire for the evening and enjoy my winnings instead.”

 

She not-so-quietly made her way back to her tent with an armful of sweets. Stopping every so often to inform a camp member she had beaten  _ you _ at Poker.

 

“Don’t worry, when she’s drunk I’ll steal it all back.”

 

“It’s Karen, so by morning then?” you grinned while Tilly snickered into her palm.

 

“She’s right though. A kite? For you that’s pretty tame...unless you’re planning on jumping off the cliff here with it.” her widened eyes indicated she wasn’t joking about thinking you capable of that. “Tell me you’re not planning on jumpin off the cliff with it.”

 

“Of course not,” You said, though the thought was a fascinating one. “It’s only tame because you haven’t seen where I’m getting the material.”

 

\----------

 

In a testament to your revelation the previous night, you were up before the camp even began to stir. You’d been up for most of the night with Tilly working on a complicated kite. You’d learned how in a caravan comprised mainly of Chinese men and women, and regaled Tilly with tales of their beautiful culture. The longer the conversation went on, the more the tense anxiety that’d filled your being lessened it’s grip. You were still worried, incredibly so in fact, but you weren’t going to let it take you out of character another minute.

 

You scribbled a quick note for Miss Grimshaw, knowing she’d be among the first to wake soon, and set out a little ways from camp. Finding a spot where the forest danced along the edges of plains, you tried recalling everything you’d been taught about catching the wind.

 

Such a seemingly simple activity could demand so much of your attention, that you might miss the sound of a horse’s light trot behind you. You might miss the softening gaze of a rugged cowboy once he spots you. You might even miss him dismounting and hitching his horse in favor of sitting back against the base of a tree to watch you.

 

“Beginning to think I’m never gonna come back to find you doing something normal. Like baking a cake...or cleaning a rifle. Anything else I suppose.”

 

You froze, your grip tightening on the fishing line you were using for a kite line. You turned carefully, mindful to not bring your hard work crashing to the ground. Arthur gave you a lopsided grin, and though you couldn’t see his eyes beneath his hat, you were sure his smile reached them. He didn’t look worse for wear that you could see, but you couldn’t be sure until he undressed. Just to look him over of course….

 

“Then you’re beginning to realize who you hitched your wagon to.” you finally found your voice, though it cracked under the pressure of euphoria. “Arthur Morgan I would both hug and slap you, if my magnum opus wasn’t at risk.”

 

He laughed, from deep in his chest. “My hats in the ring for the first one.”

 

A quiet moment blossomed between the two of you as you readjusted to being in each other’s presence. It was beautiful to you, and better than any fantasy scene a novel could propose. You wondered if it was putting him at ease to be back around you the way it was for you.

 

“It wasn’t my intention to worry you my lady, things got crazy out there. Did my best to get back at a reasonable time.”

 

“Well I figured that, I wasn’t that worried.” you fingered the fishing line gently. You were suddenly embarrassed to tell him you’d moped, and defaulted to lying.

 

“You’re lucky you’re so damn beautiful, even when you lie.” he chuckled. His smugness let you know the camp had already told him everything.

 

“Ok, I missed you and I was worried. If you make fun, I’m leaving you on your own horse. She likes me better anyways.”

 

“Fair enough I think. I’d have to keep the winnings from the bet though.”

 

You knew immediately what he was talking about. You, unintentionally, provided many opportunities for the gang to make quick money off of your antics. You didn’t mind the audience, it amused you.

 

“What’s the bet this time?”

 

“Whether you can fly that thing or not.” he nodded up at the kite, that while lower than when he first got there, was still still sailing through the air. “I reckon some of them are gonna have to learn about betting against you the hard way. Like I did.”

 

You grinned, and ducked your head at the slight compliment. Arthur had a way of empowering you that you were sure he wasn’t even aware of most times. He swore he wasn’t a romantic, and to some degree he wasn’t, but in his own way he was better. Genuine.

 

“Well, you won. How are you gonna prove it?”

 

The sound of rustling caused you to turn halfway to face him again. He slid his camera out of his satchel and patted its top.

 

“I’ll be ok giving up the winnings to you if I can keep the picture.”

 

That was how Arthur Mogan obtained a photo of his sweetheart after he’d redenered her a bashful mess. Every other photo of you he had, drawn or otherwise, you were confident and radiant. This one felt different, and perhaps why it would go on to become his favorite.

 

“Now,” he carefully packed the camera back in his satchel. “You gonna keep putting that before your own feller? For shame Miss (L/N).”

 

“Jealous of a child’s plaything? That’s a new low Mister Morgan.”

 

Arthur made a noise of mock surprise. “Child’s plaything? Well what are you doing with it then? The things you’re capable of certainly are not childlike.” 

 

Hard work be damned, you turned on your heel, yanking the kite down after you. In a swift, and for you, unsurprisingly graceful movement, you’d tackled the man to the ground. You laughed at his hearty grunt, eyes following the bouncing movement of his now dislodged hat. The kite came crashing down near you, but neither of you were too focused on it.

 

“Someone should shut you up Arthur Morgan.”

 

He shifted to allow you to fall into a more comfortable position on top of him. “If anyone’s gonna try I’d rather it be you.”

 

Up close, hat gone, you could see evidence of his journey. You gently ran the pad of your thumb over the bruise under his right eye. He closed his eyes, cheeks reddening under your loving gaze. Unspoken words traveled through touch instead. Your soft examination admitting you were worried, his gentle lean into you a form of apology.

 

You pressed your forehead to his own, and let your lips collide. Soft hands slid up his neck, over his stubble, and into his light locks. You shivered when you felt the combination of warmth and rough texture, that was his hands, grip your waist under your shirt. You felt him standing at attention, straining against the fabric of his pants. You gripped his shoulders to fight the urge to grind down on him.

 

He broke the kiss, and your lungs greedily took the opportunity for air. His lips roamed your neck with no particular destination in mind, simply trying to soak up the feel of your skin. Distracted by his mouth, you jumped feeling his hands travel beneath your skirt to grip your thighs. A dizzy laugh left you when he roughly lifted you up to remove your panties.

 

A mewl escaped you when his thumb carded through your folds. The tiny pricks of pain his stubble caused, juxtaposed against the soft touches to your heat, made you see in tunnel vision. You needed him.

  
“Ar-..Arthur…” you voice was a husky, broken whisper that indicated you were having trouble gathering your words.

 

Arthur understood. “Drawn out?”

 

He broke the kiss breathing harshly against your cheek. Your hips jumped after a particularly swift swipe over you. 

 

“No,” you shook your head. “Been such a good girl since you’ve been gone. I won’t last long.”

 

His deep chuckle against your collarbone drew another moan from you because of the sound alone. “I have not been that well behaved, I must admit.” his lips split into a sheepish smile. “But it’s about the same for me too.”

 

His dirty admission drew a laugh from you. You began covering his face in kisses while you released him from the confines of his pants. “It’s fine.”

 

His hands captured your hips and carefully lined you up. You inhaled sharply once he was inside, overloaded by too many feelings. Arthur’s hands trembled, and you imagined it was the same for him too. He waited patiently, painfully, for a sign from you to move.

You rolled your hips once, and he went from there. The two of you worked out a rhythm and fell into it rather quickly. Your hands found purchase at the base of neck and held on tightly. Every night you two had been apart, the frustration of not knowing if he’d come back, the sheer loneliness neither of you could fix without the other. It all came out in the shared act.

 

You’d both been correct when you admitted you wouldn’t last long. You lost it first, having been more tightly wound, and you weren’t quiet about it. Your raw moans spurred Arthur on, and he drove you through the blinding heat coursing through your being. You cradled his head and whispered loving words of encouragement to push him to his own release. He dropped his forehead to your shoulder and bit down, as a fierce shudder ripped through his form. You rubbed his back and guided him through it.

 

A final kiss was shared between you two, one that spoke of a love growing between you two. It said there was plenty of space for it to fill, and that was something you both wanted. He cupped your face, about to speak, when something caught his eye.

 

“Did you use one of Dutch’s silk shirts for your kite?” 

 

\---------------

 

The two of you walked rather than rode back to camp, and it was filled with effortless conversation and teasing. You came so close to blurting out that you loved him, but bit it down every time. You’d never had anyone in your life to say that to, and weren’t sure if it was too soon. You weren’t too sure about Arthur, but it terrified you to think about sending the words out there only to have them hang alone. 

 

“We should go to the lake.” you commented as the camp came into view.

 

“To bathe.” you emphasized when you saw his wolfish grin.

 

“I’ll meet you there, Miss Grimshaw wanted to see me. Sounded pretty important, but I wanted to see you first.” 

 

“Flattery may change your luck.” you winked at him and headed for your tent to grab your bathing kit.

 

Arthur never met you at the lake, and you went forward with bathing, figuring he’d fallen asleep. Possibly one of the cold souls you now called family had roped him into an errand. Either way, he was making it up to you later.

 

The first thing you heard when you got back to camp was the distinct sound of an annoyed Miss Grimshaw, and a firm toned Dutch, coming from the direction of Arthur’s tent.

 

“Let the boy make his own decisions Miss Grimshaw.”

 

“ **_Boy_ ** is exactly right!” Grimshaw’s hands shot up as if to ask ‘why her’. “Only a  boy could make such a foolish decision. You don’t line up for a second helping of disrespect with a side of humiliation Arthur. It ain’t right….she ain’t-”

 

The others in the camp pretended to be busy, but kept a decent distance away. You frowned and sped up your pace.

 

“A man has to learn on his own,” Dutch shook his head in Grimshaw’s direction. “You can’t make this choice for him. Accept that.”

 

Arthur, meanwhile, hadn’t said anything. He simply continued his task which, as you got closer, you discovered to be packing.

 

“What’s going on?” you walked past Dutch and Grimshaw, straight for Arthur himself.

 

You felt the heat of numerous gazes on your back, but you stayed focused on the only one you needed to see at that moment. Arthur hands slowed, enough to see the tremble, but not enough to stop his task. 

 

“Where are you going?” you asked, your tone carrying more edge than you wished had escaped.

 

“I gotta go into Valentine on some business. I’ll be back in a day or so.” he still hadn’t met your gaze which started to upset you. 

 

“Tell her where you’re going Arthur. The girl deserves that much. She’s so sweet on you she nearly rotted thinking something bad had happened to you.” Miss Grimshaw crossed her arms, eyes locked on Arthur’s tense form.

 

“Grimshaw!” Dutch barked taking her by the arm to lead her away. “Leave.It.Alone.”

 

Whatever she said in protest was lost to you. Everything else may as well have fallen off the face of the earth for all you cared at the moment. Every perceptive instinct you’d honed in your nomadic life was screaming so many possibilities at you, that you almost shook Arthur to demand an answer simply to make them stop.

 

Instead, you reached for his hand and grasped it. “What’s wrong? You know you can tell me.”

 

Arthur pulled away from your touch, still refusing to meet your gaze. “I believe I did tell you, business.”

 

“I’ve robbed coaches with you, setup hold ups, spied for information. What kind of business can’t you say all of a sudden?” 

 

“The kind I don’t have time to get into right now. I’ll explain when I get back.” he placed a few small supplies into his satchel, carefully fitting his journal in after them.

 

“So you were just gonna...just gonna leave and not tell me? What the hell is that Arthur Morgan?” you snapped, stubbornly blocking him from going for his clothes chest by sitting on it.

 

“I wouldn’t have done that to you.” he lifted you from the chest with ease, ignoring your cry of indignation. 

 

He got a few articles of clothing while you cycled through what to say. You had so many questions and he was moving so quickly. By the time you figured out what you wanted to say, he was already moving towards his horse.

 

“I’ll go with you,” you jogged to keep up with his pace. 

 

You expected him to snap at you, with how tightly he was wound up, but you didn’t care. You weren’t afraid of him, he couldn’t brush aside your concerns so easily.

 

He stopped in his tracks and turned to you. “(Y/N). I’ll be back, I promise. I’ll tell you everything then, just let me handle this on my own.”

 

One hand cupped your neck, while the other gently grasped your cheek. You leaned into his touch and nodded. You would trust him, and pray he didn’t give you a reason not to. 


	3. White Lace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I haven’t made it clear before this point, I should say these drabbles aren’t in any particular order.
> 
> Also, I’m writing a John drabble so he should be next. I’m considering taking prompt ideas so I can write a little more than when an idea hits me.

“I’m surprised you wanted to wear white.” Miss Grimshaw straightened the shoulders of your dress with careful tugs.

 

“Miss Grimshaw! Is that a shot at my virtue?” The back of one hand went to your forehead, the other’s fingers touched your heart, just missing the keyhole cutout next to it.

 

“Virtue? In this outfit of degenerates? Ha!” she shook her head as if the very thought were flying around it. “I **_meant_ **, that for you it’s tame. I keep waiting for you to make up for such a normal affair by having a lion officiate...or maybe a bear to play the music.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t think poor Arthur could handle my wildest wedding fantasies. This will have to do.”

 

“I’ll try not to be too disappointed.” she tugged sharply at the corset bodice of your dress.

 

You grunted, but regained your composure quickly.

 

“I’m saving the fire eating for later tonight.” you shot her a cheeky grin the mirror.

 

“If I knew outta the two of you who the bigger mess was, I might be able to preserve a few non-gray hairs.” she exited the room with a shake of her head, muttering about checking on the men.

 

Karen stumbled out of the dressing room, fiddling with the bow at the back of her cream dress. “What’s that old bat fussing about now?”

 

“ _You_ stop fussing, and let me fix your dress!” Tilly chased after her. “Only fussing I hear is yours.”

 

“Shush!” Mary-Beth swatted them with her hair brush before turning to you. “I can’t believe you’re getting married in a mansion. It looks like something out of a fairytale.”

 

Those had been you thoughts when you’d found the place hidden in Lemoyne. A two story manor, painted white and gently choked by wisteria. You were fascinated by it. It was a perfect piece of art near a toxic, humid town.

It worked its way into your thoughts, and you began imagining your big day there. It was different from your usual tastes, but perhaps that’s what hooked you. Escaping the dust and grime for a day, your biggest day.

 

“Complete with Knight Arthur riding in his horse to slay the dragon.” Tilly managed to have one hand over Karen’s mouth, while using the other to tighten her dress.

 

Karen bit her hand, smirking at Tilly’s yelp. “Those old bastards had it coming. If you would’ve let me shoot em’, you and Arthur could’ve lived here.”

 

“Well, you’re an important part of my wedding, and a noose don’t exactly scream ‘wedding day’ Karen.” you perched on a plush stool to let Mary-Beth start pinning your curls up. “I didn’t even want Arthur to know remember?”

 

It was true. You had approached the owners of the home, after goading from your bridal party, and questioned would a wedding there be possible. The middle-aged couple were quick to inform you, that if you had been anyone else they would’ve considered it. For you, and the group and you ran with, not a chance.

They’d heard of the rough women, and their equally wild and wily men in town. They weren’t amused, or fooled, by your ragtag group, and they wanted you off their property.

 

Karen, angered at being judged, had challenged them. You tried to diffuse the situation, though you were furious yourself, and hadn’t done a very good job. It amounted to threats from both sides, and the couple firing near the four of you, before you were finally able to drag the ladies from the property.

 

Once back at the camp, Karen had told the group of what occurred, immediately breaking the silence you’d sworn her too. Arthur’s reaction was the angriest you’d ever seen him, the intensity almost palpable. It’d taken nearly all night to switch between calming him, and calming the gang. Eventually, you’d convinced everyone that you wanted the gang to be whole on your wedding day, and that retaliation could potentially ruin that.

You’d held your protective cowboy that night, soothing his rage rigid muscles, and whispering things about your shared favorite topic. Your future.

It worked, for that night, but you woke up alone in the late morning. Before you had time to inquire, Arthur rode back into camp with Lenny, Javier, and John in tow. Knuckles bruised, and the rare grin stretched on his face, he strode up to you proclaiming the situation handled. He hadn’t known about your vision for the wedding, but after Karen turned camp crier, he’d instantly become determined to give it to you. He went to punish them for threatening you, forcing them to throw in borrowing the house was added bonus. You’d halfheartedly scolded him, but couldn’t deny the warmth in your chest at his actions.

 

“The guy that shot at us,” Karen’s giggling bled into her words and she had to pause. “Javier said Arthur blackened that jackass’s eye so good, he saw him and damn near turned into a stableboy.”

 

Feminine peals of laughter bounced around the room in varying intensities.  

 

“Arthur would do anything for you.” Tilly pressed her cheek to yours in a side hug, grinning at you in the mirror. “Hold on to him, you got a good one.”

There was a soft rap on the door, and as if summoned by his name, Arthur’s voice followed. “You ladies decent?”

 

You couldn’t fight the smile that formed when you heard his voice, and caught the nervous edge to it. It didn’t matter how threatening to others he could be, you had the privilege of seeing him be a complete puppy, and nothing would ever override that image.

 

“Arthur you know the damn rules!” Karen yanked you up like a ragdoll, and dragged you behind a silk screen.

 

“Yeah, I know.” you imagined him scratching the back of his neck and fought the urge to throw open the door. “I just need to speak to (Y/N) a moment ladies, I won’t look, I swear.”

 

“No.” Mary-Beth shook her head, not caring Arthur wasn’t able to see it. “You’ll start your marriage off with bad luck. You wanna end up in the desert with a dead horse and three coyotes closing in on you.”

 

You chortled in that weird way you did when you were really amused. You hated the sound, but he loved how alive you became when  you did it. Unable to resist the sound, he came in anyways, palms covering his eyes.

 

“Only a minute.”

 

“Well, it **_would_ ** piss off Grimshaw.” Karen gathered up Tilly and Mary-Beth.

 

“You better not look Arthur Morgan.” Mary-Beth glared at him over her shoulder.

 

“No ma’am I won’t.” he shook his head waiting until the door closed.

 

It was silent for a moment, the weight of what was soon to come settling over the both of you.

 

“I’m behind a screen, you can look.”  you slipped your hands over the top, reaching out for him. “Breaking ancient tradition just for me? You getting soft Mister Morgan?”

 

He chuckled shyly, lowering his head, and took a heavy step towards the screen. “Only for you my lady, be gentle about it.”

He took your small hands in his, and ran his thumb over the back. His fingers traveled up your arms to touch the lace sleeves, the last addition to your dress, with gentle admiration. The actions made you resist the urge to squeal at how adorable your man was, and simply squeeze his hands back in return.

 

He leaned forward and kissed your hand. “You know, I could obliged to help you to the front door and let you run. Probably save your life.”

 

Your gentle grasp turned into a tight grip. “You stop that right now Arthur. You deserve me, I deserve you, and we’re stuck with each other. You try to push me away, and you’ll have a fight on your hands. Just try it.”

 

“Fair enough.” he drawled, bringing your fingertips to his lips. “I should go before Susan hunts me down. She would probably take something from me that would be otherwise useful tonight….and forever.”

 

“See that you do, I have big plans for that something.”

 

Through the screen, you could see his silhouette stiffen at your innuendo. “Darlin’, if the idea is to keep me from coming behind the screen, this **_ain’t_ ** how you do it.”

 

The low timbre of his voice made you seriously consider dragging him behind the screen with you. He could keep his eyes shut during right?

 

The amused, yet slightly out of breath, voice of Dutch cut into the room. “Boy I know you’re in there! You don’t have to explain to me why, I’ve seen the girl, but you better get out here. Susan’s like a hound on the trail.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t tell Arthur Morgan’s woman no. It is law.
> 
> It's also law this man is a soft softling in a cowboy hat, protec please.


	4. Go With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure what John was getting into while he was gone, but *clap* up *clap* in *clap* here, it was the reader.
> 
> Sorry this took longer, got some of the game spoiled for me, and I’ve been trying to dedicate more time to beating it so I don’t have anything else spoiled. Gotta stay out of the RDR x Reader tag man *sigh*.

\----------------

The chatter of the night loving people, your people, swept through your open window on the breeze. Normally, you’d be out there with them, hunting for trouble in the hours you felt most alive. You’d had far more….urgent matters to attend to that night, however.

 

John, taking notice of your mental absence, spoke up. “Never thought I’d have myself a thinking woman, been told I don’t do too much of that myself.”

 

You grinned, shifting your nude body beneath the shared cool sheets. “You  _ don’t _ , because I don’t recall you asking me to be your woman John Marston.”

 

His hands found your thighs and teased you with light, callused touches. “No, I suppose I haven’t.” suddenly he hoisted you on top of him, holding you in place. “Maybe I should before I ask you what I’ve got to.”

 

Your body stilled, and you were certain your face told of you inner feelings. He couldn’t possibly be hinting at  _ that _ could he?

 

You slowly stretched out over his body, head propped on his chest to meet his gaze. “If you’ve gotta ring, pawn it, and get us good booze and a nice hotel room instead.”

  
He laughed. “Noted for the future, but that ain’t it.”

 

“So you don’t wanna marry me?” you pressed your lips to the scruff along his jaw, reveling in how he nearly purred.

 

“Now woman you just damn near sprouted wings and took flight at the idea. Now you’re disappointed?” he laughed, and you kissed his chest, enjoying the thrum it sent through your body.

 

“I might be persuaded to reconsider it. Might be able to think again real fast if you’re about to tell me you’ve got old money laying around.”

 

“No such luck my dear,” he smacked your ass, not bothering to fight off his smug grin at your yelp. “Now would you listen?”

 

“Yes.” you nipped his throat in retaliation.

 

“I’ve gotta get back home and-”

 

“You told me you didn’t have a home.” you weren’t angry, it wasn’t like you and John were headed for the altar. That did, however, make you curious about where this openness on his part was coming from.

 

“I don’t...not really. It ain’t like you think, it’s more  _ people _ than a  _ place _ .” he looked away, failing to hide his sheepish grin from you.

 

“You’ve got people John?” you traced his lips softly with your fingers, trying to sooth the tenseness you felt beneath you.

 

“Yeah, and I wasn’t so great to em’.” he looked downright ashamed, an expression that looked so foreign on him, it startled you for a moment. “Gotta get back and make it right. It’s time.”

 

The weight of the conversation sank in, and you slowly slid away from him. He’d gotten under your skin. Ok. And yeah, no other man had done that, nor had you let them try. True. 

That being said, you were a grown woman who’d been on her own since seventeen. He could go, and you wouldn’t cry or beg. You would be fine. You would.

 

“Well, you don’t have to explain anything to me.” you shrugged, your mask gearing up to fall in place. “We weren’t hitched or anything. If it’s time to move on, you gotta move on.”

 

You could feel his eyes on you as you turned to slip off the bed. He was confused, if the quick glance at him in the mirror told you anything. He probably thought you’d cry. Well you wouldn’t……

 

“You didn’t even let-”

 

“John, you’re trying to give me something you don’t owe me. We were having fun.” you forced a laugh, and shook your tossed locks from your face. “It’s been a good seven mon-”

 

Your words died when you felt him wrap himself around you from behind. One hand coming up to stop you from dressing, the other sliding around your middle in soothing touches.

 

“I’m trying to tell you I want you to come with me.” his lips glided along your neck. “Hear me out, I ain’t got much, and you won’t be walking into a palace-”

 

You turned around, still locked in his arms, your own encircling his neck. “You think I don’t know a rich man by now Marston? If I wanted that from you, I would’ve never brought you to your knees that first night.”


	5. Fitting (Modern AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just went to a word generator and took random words to use for plot ideas. It switches from the Reader to Arthur’s POV by segment (in case you get/got confused).
> 
> Annnnd, hooray for technologically illiterate, and borderline luddite, Arty.

**1\. Rain**

 

Arthur didn’t used to be too fond of the rain. It made travel hell on earth. If you were in a cold place, you froze. Hot place? It made you feel sticky, and teased you about feeling cooler. He didn’t understand why people were so in love with it. That was until he found a home.

 

The gang had worked long and hard to set themselves free from their former lives. Freedom looked like a sprawling, luxury ranch resort, staffed by former criminals. It amazed him that people were willing to pay big bucks to vacation the way he’d lived the majority of his life for free, but they were. He couldn’t knock the weirdness too much, because it allowed him to meet you, and gave him a place for a new start with you.

 

So he got it now. Why people enjoyed the rain so much. Sitting on a cozy living room’s window seat of the ground’s main house, your back to his as you dozed lightly, the rain painting the window next to you. He understood.

 

He looked down at you, and couldn’t stop what he’d been told was a “goofy” grin from spreading across his lips. You looked stunning, long lashes touching your cheek and lips pouting in dream concentration. 

Absentmindedly, he ran his thumb across your cheek in soft swipes, enjoying the moment. He’d have to remember to draw this later.

 

You shifted lightly, paused to realize he’d been studying you, yawned cutely, and narrowed your eyes. “You watching me sleep Morgan?”

 

“Yes ma’am, you’re goddamn beautiful.”

 

“Translation, ‘I wanna fuck you on these new cushions-”

 

He quickly silenced you with a kiss, one that quickly devolved into laughter from both of you.

Yeah, Arthur Morgan could appreciate the rain. He would go so far as to say he downright loved it.

 

**2. Bedroom**

 

When people asked what you missed the most on your travels, it now came down to two answers. Arthur, and your bedroom.

The first one wasn’t surprising. In your five months working for the gang’s resort, you and Arthur had grown inseparable. The two of you let instinct and feeling be your guide, and it hadn’t disappointed you yet. 

The second one was a bit more strange for most people. Being settled for most of their lives left them taking personal space, such as a bedroom, for granted. Residing with your new family had been the closest thing to settled you’d ever been. You found out it was pretty much the same for them, and Arthur shared your appreciation for a space away from constant prying eyes.

 

You burrowed your cheek into the pillow, trying to appreciate your bed and the sunrise at once. For the next three-and-a-half weeks, you would be in Australia, and would miss seeing the sunrise this way.

A warm arm came over your side, and you relaxed into the body attached to it. Arthur buried his face in your hair, his hold tightening when he breathed in.

 

“Your plane doesn’t leave til’ twelve, you trying to get away from me already?” he was teasing you, but you could still hear a slight edge to his tone. He respected your love of travel, but he missed you terribly when you were away from him.

 

You laced your fingers with his, and gave a tight squeeze. “Don’t even try it, you know I cry on the plane every time now. I didn’t do that before you.”

 

“I am both delighted and upset to hear that.” his voice was still colored by sleep, and somehow managed to hold a rougher tone to it.

 

“I suspect more of the former than the latter.”

 

He chuckled and moved his lips from his hair to your cheek. You hummed and sunk further into his warmth, allowing him to claim more of your skin with his kisses. The comfort of the bed, the warmth of Arthur, and the softness of his kisses, started to make you dizzy in the best way. Who knew Arthur Morgan was king at cuddling?

 

He pulled you under him, lips now on your own.

  
“I have to get ready, I told Mary-Beth I’d help her with giftshop duty before I leave.” very few of your words managed to surface between kisses, but you knew he’d heard you.

 

“Mary-Beth ain’t stealing my last few hours with you.” his reply was rough in tone, his next kiss firm to back up his point.

 

You felt your body abuzz with adoration for the man and his cute declaration. He was pouring how much he’d miss you into his actions. He wouldn’t outright declare he’d miss you, but he would show you.

 

Your hands danced across his back in gentle motions. “I’m going to miss you too Arthur.”

 

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to. His gaze said a lot, and his follow up kiss said whatever it left out.

When he pulled away, he touched his forehead to yours, eyes closed. You recognized his expression as one that said he wanted to tell you something, so you waited.

  
“I was thinking, you might be able to come home to find your bedroom in mine.”

 

It took you a moment, but you realized what he meant when the poor man’s expression got panicked. He wanted you to move in with him.

 

“I’m thinking I might like that.”

 

A look of relief crossed his handsome features, before he ducked his head by your ear. “I’m thinking you might like something else to.”

 

**3\. Dizzy**

 

The most important moment of Arthur Morgan’s life came at 4:45 AM on a Saturday.

 

He hadn’t been expecting anything beyond seeing you for the first time in weeks. That’s all he needed to be honest. He hadn’t seen hide nor tail of you, with the exception of a frustrating FaceTime (was that what you called it?) that everyone felt they needed to be a part of, in two weeks.

Every other moment of communication boiled down to phone calls, and confusing texts (goddamn, why couldn’t you let him keep his flip phone?!).

 

Arthur was a simple man, and he liked his communication the same way. Nothing was more simple than talking to you face to face. He could hold you, see your face clearly, and not make a complete fool of himself for lacking poetic graces.

So when he got a call from you, asking him to pick you up from the airport a week ahead of schedule, he nearly ran out of the house in his underwear.

 

The bustling airport pickup wasn’t the best place to play catch up, so the two of you followed what was tradition at this point. A tight hug, and then a comfortably silent ride to your favorite diner. There you would share a million questions and a million kisses, until your food was cold, and the sun was unbelievably hot through the window.

 

“I can’t imagine what’s back here in Texas that’d make you leave those Australian fellers behind.”

 

You flashed him a tired smile from across the both. Knees drawn up to your chin, hair messily piled on top of your head, and swathed in a colorful t-shirt, Arthur would bet money you were the most gorgeous thing on earth.

 

“I have a pretty good answer I think.” you carefully raised your hot mug of peppermint tea to your lips.

 

“Yeah? They wouldn’t wake up at the break of dawn and kill spiders for you?” he chuckled, raising his own mug of coffee.

 

You shook your head, and when you lowered your mug he saw you were smirking. “None of them got me pregnant.”

 

The coffee went down the wrong way, and aspiration kicked in. He spluttered, a hand coming up to grip the table. You leapt up, and circled the table to slide into his booth.

“Are you ok?!” your voice was wrought with concern as you thumped his back. “I hoped you’d have a funny reaction, but I wasn’t trying to kill you!”

 

He sucked in a mouthful of air, a burning pain snaking through his chest. “You pranking me? Like in those stupid videos you and Mary-Beth watch? I don’t wanna end up on that dumb video site.”

 

“Wow,” you gave that funny little ( loud ) laugh of yours, and threw your arms around his neck. “I expected a lot of reactions from you, but not that one. No, I’m serious.”

 

He sighed, and ran a hand over his chin. He was sure all color had drained from his face, if the faint dizzy feeling was anything to go by. He could you hear you calling his name, but his mind just kept wanting him to hear the word “pregnant”. 

 

Your hands uncoiled from around his neck. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t say **_you_** got me pregnant either.”

 

He shot you a withering side glare at your joke. “No, I don’t believe it does.”

 

He could feel you staring at his profile, but he was too busy staring at his mug instead.

 

“Well...I need some kind of response big guy. I mean what do you think?” you placed your hands on the table, fingers pressing into each other. “Are you...mad?”

 

He could hear you were unsure, a sound that was foreign for you. Mad? He found it hard to get mad with you as it was, and this certainly wouldn’t have been a valid case for it.

 

“You know me better than that, of course I ain’t mad….just a lot of other things I guess.” he exhaled and turned to face you. “You certainly seem relaxed enough for the both of us.”

 

You grinned and shrugged, and he wondered why he had ever expected a typical reaction from you.

 

“I had two whole days, and a long ass flight to think it over. I’m not scared Arthur, I’m ok with this.” your voice was firm this time, steady. “It’s like a new adventure, you know me and adventure.”

 

He snorted. “Catnip.”

 

“I’m as settled as I’m ever gonna get, I’m fine with it, I can still explore the world in the future. But...I need to know where  **_you_ ** stand.” 

 

He felt your gaze on him again, and repeated your words in his head. Pregnant. The best thing he’d ever come across in his life, and he’s quite possibly ruined yours. You were a beautiful young woman who, while well traveled and experienced, still had so much to offer the world. Had he stolen that away from you?

 

He saw your hand tremble slightly, and took it into his much larger one. For a second, he just stared at it, before enclosing it in his. “My lady I stand with you. I just want you to know what you’re tying yourself to is all.”

 

He could sense you wanted to stop him. You didn’t like when it seemed like he was going to “put himself down”. Being honest is what he called it.

  
“You know about my past.” he exhaled and continued when he felt you squeeze his hand. “You can put lipstick on a pig, but it’s still a pig that’s committed too many atrocities to name. I don’t rightly know what kind of business I have being near a child for too long, let alone raising one of my own, but I would never leave you. You know that.”

 

“I do.” you squeezed his hand again, longer this time.

 

“So, if you wanted to do the leaving...If you wanted to give this child something different than me...or do something..else for yourself. I wouldn’t fight you.”

 

“I want to stay with you.” your arms returned around his neck. “Fight me about that.”

 

“I should.” he drawled, leaning into the warm lips you’d placed on his cheek.

 

“But you won’t.”

 

He faced you fully, finally, hand coming up to cradle your jaw. “No, I won’t.”

 

Goddamn he’d made yet another mess, but when he saw your face light up as you started talking about the future, he couldn’t be too angry with himself this time.

 

**4\. Coffee**

 

Waking up before everyone else, to get the house kitchen for yourself, always made losing that extra bit of sleep worth it. You loved finally having a family, but the quiet moments were nice too. No bickering, it wasn’t quite time to worry about what the guests wanted (not that you had to worry about that again for a while), and you could just exhale and take your time. 

 

It was also a great time for coffee, though you had tried to scale back with the pregnancy. Decaf coffee may not have given you the buzz of caffeinated coffee, but it still helped with the craving. Maybe Charles was right, and you  **_were_ ** a slave to the bean….

 

You chortled into your mug at the thought.

 

“That mug funnier than me?”

 

You laughed again, extending your foot to slide out the chair across from you. “Arthur Morgan I bet you’re jealous of my pillow for getting to touch my hair all night.”

 

He took the offered seat, and sleepily ran his hands through his hair. “Probably, I do like that shampoo you use.”

 

You rolled your eyes, and brought your mug up to your amused grin. A comfortable silence settled between you two, as the morning’s first light began to shine through the giant picture window. 

 

Arthur was the first to break it. “Are you sleeping ok? I know you usually get up early, but it was dark out. If you aren’t sleeping, we should probably tell th-”

 

“I’m fine mother hen, god you’ve been adorable through this.” you beamed at your protective man, who was currently blushing and ducking under your gaze.

 

“Yeah, yeah. It ain’t as noble as all that. I’m just trying to save myself the ‘this is your fault’ speech when the time comes.” 

 

You sat down your empty mug and gave him a pitying look. “Aww. No baby, that’s still happening regardless. Sorry.”

 

“Can’t blame a feller for giving it his best.” he looked out of the window for a while, his gaze darting across the scenery, before clearing his throat. “Look here (Y/N). I’ve been sitting on this thing for a while.”

 

He reached into the pocket of his pajama pants, and you tensed up. It didn’t take a genius to gather what the moment’s energy was telling you. Sure enough, he produced a ring, revealing your instinct to be right. You gasped, though it came out somewhat choked, but didn’t speak.

 

“Now it’s not because you’re pregnant, Abigail said you wouldn’t like that to be the reason, and it’s not. I was planning on asking when you got back from Australia-”

 

“Yes!” you screamed the word that had been looping in your mind since you saw the ring.

 

“Ssh.” he half-laughed half-shushed you. “You want everybody in here? Nosey enough on their own, make em’ work for it at least.”

 

“I don’t care who hears.” you lightly stamped your feet on the tile floor. 

 

He laughed again, blue eyes shining with confidence now that rejection was off the table. This poor sweet man thought you’d reject him, even after all you’d been through and had yet to go through. Not a chance.

 

“Well then.” he kneeled on the tile floor you knew to be freezing, and held up the ring. “Miss (Y/N) (L/N), I would very much appreciate if you would be an old fool’s wife.”

 

You pulled him to you by his shirt, and threw your arms around him. “Yes, but I don’t know any, so you’ll have to do instead.”

 

You two shared a solid embrace, Arthur ever careful of your growing stomach, and you nearly choking the life out of him. He took your hand is his, and you could feel his trembling. He slid the ring on your finger and just stared at it as if he couldn’t believe it. Maybe he couldn’t, you were sure his self-doubts were telling him it was all a lie. You kissed his forehead, hoping if he was having any such thoughts, they would perish. His hands came up to lay gently on the just-noticeable bump of your stomach. 

 

“I swear to you, I will do my best to make you two very happy, and keep you safe.”

 

You just kissed him instead of responding with words. You didn’t have to. You knew he loved you deeply, and would do his best to keep his word. He was a big part of what you called home, and you couldn’t think of any place safer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took so much longer than I wanted with this. I just kept deleting and going back and forth. I hope it’s ok.  
> I’m gonna be posting a HC for this AU, and then posting something for Hosea after that.


End file.
